


Far Across the Blue

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Modern Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Michael’s minding his own business when a group of assholes in dark suits and stupid sunglasses march into the little cafe where he’s having lunch and surround his table.
Relationships: Ryan Haywood/Michael Jones
Comments: 11
Kudos: 72





	Far Across the Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a [not!fic AU idea](https://vagrantblvrd.tumblr.com/post/621451117872676864/i-feel-this-is-like-prince-ryan-either-picking) I had, but set in modern day in a fictional country. Still with the same dorks, though. So. Yes???

Michael’s minding his own business when a group of assholes in dark suits and stupid sunglasses march into the little cafe where he’s having lunch and surround his table.

Cut from the same mold as Secret Service agents from the look of it, the only thing they’re missing are the earpieces made famous in movies and television. 

“Can I help you?” Michael asks, because it always pays to be polite when you’re in a foreign country and people dressed like they’re about to disappear you show up. 

There’s this awkward little ripple among the G-Man squad, big burly guy on one end glancing to the guy next to him like he forgot his line and hopes his buddy will help him out. And then it just doesn’t stop until it gets to the guy on the other end of the group.

Shorter than the others, and instead of the buzz cuts the guys are sporting this one’s gone all-out. Shaved bald, neatly trimmed facial hair and some actual emotion showing through when he looks back at the guy who looked at him.

Incredulous, or something like it. Eyebrows going up, the whole shebang.

Clear his throat and turns to Michael, and says, 

“The prince would like to invite you to the palace for a meeting.”

Which.

Michael looks at his table, the half-empty pint of beer and -

“Hey,” Michael says, picking up said pint and shoving it at the bald guy. “Does this smell weird to you?”

This time the guy takes a step back, his eyebrows go down, and his arm twitches like he stopped himself from reaching for something when Michael breached his personal space.

All of that happens in the blink of an eye, as the saying goes, and then the guy huffs, annoyance and irritation and something else.

“Sir, I - “

Michael doesn’t let him finish, just pushes a little more because he thought the damn beer smelled weird to start with. The bartender told them it was a craft beer, some new recipe or whatever and only a small batch was made to test how popular it was.

And if the goddamned prince of a country he’s never set foot in until today suddenly wants to meet him, well.

There has to be something in it besides beer.

So.

The guy stares at Michel for a long moment before he takes the pint glass from Michael and takes a sniff.

And then another one, just to be safe or whatever.

“It smells like beer, sir,” he says, handing it back. “Now if we could get back on topic - “

Michael tunes the guy out as he takes a sniff of his beer again. Still smells weird to him, but okay, sure. Why not take the word of some guy dressed like a Man in Black? Surely nothing can go wrong there.

He sits back in his chair and surveys the group in front of him. 

Intimidating looking bunch in their sharp suits and dark sunglasses. Something about the way they stand. Presumably well-trained, and definitely armed although the cut of their suits go a long way in disguising the fact.

Still.

No one’s shown him ID of any kind, and only an idiot would believe them without giving it a second thought.

“Yeah, I’m thinking I’d like to see a badge or something, you know?” Michael says, gaze swinging back to the bald guy who seems to be the one in charge of the G-man squad. “No offense, but how do I know you guys are legit?”

The bald guy seems taken aback, like everyone else they’ve approached like this were jumping at the chance to get an invite back to the palace to meet the royal family.

And, sure. Michael can see that, people being the idiots they are, but he’d rather not show up on one of his mom’s true crime shows one day, you know? Would like not to suddenly disappear while on vacation in a foreign country without anyone having seen anything.

Which, incidentally, he can see happening with the way the cafe staff have vanished and the people seated at the tables around him have quietly left.

Strange, considering it was fairly lively before now, muted conversations and occasional bouts of laughter. Waitstaff going about their business attending to their tables and refilling drinks.

Now the only people in view are the bald guy and his cronies and it’s not giving off the best vibes.

The bald guy stares at Michael for another long moment and pulls out a badge wallet. Shiny gold badge and an ID declaring him to be with what appears to be this government’s version of the Secret Service. (The suits and all.)

Michael takes it from him when the bald guy offers it for a closer inspection, and studies it.

Seems legit, or would if Michael knew what the damn things were supposed to look like in the first place. 

It does give Michael a name for the bald guy, which is nice. 

Weird, because it’s not one he’d expect to find in a place like this? But sure, whatever. Michael’s day has been weird enough.

Michael hands it back to the guy, who happens to be named Jeremy because of course he is.

“Yeah, I don’t know what the fuck any of that means?”

Not entirely a lie, but at this point he’s just trying to see how Jeremy and his cronies are going to handle Michael being a little uncooperative. 

Just because.

“In case you didn’t notice,” Michael continues before Jeremy or his cronies can jump in to enlighten him, “I’m not from around here.”

Doesn’t have the vaguely Eastern European accent the locals do. Doesn’t dress like them either, although he’s doing his best to avoid the Tourist Look.

Jeremy stares at Michael.

Michael stares back.

The G-man squad stand there looking quietly intimidating.

Michael’s getting annoyed.

“By which I mean I have no idea what the hell you just showed me or if it’s something I should be concerned about?” 

More staring, and then – Michael's sure he’s not imagining it – Jeremy sighs.

“Sir,” he says, and there are notes of _very tired_ in there along with _I’m not going to take no for an answer, so please don’t make a scene_ which always leads to good things. “Please come with us.”

Jeremy’s cronies do something behind him to make them go from quietly intimidating to full-on intimidating without moving a muscle. 

Definitely well-trained, then.

Michael rolls his eyes because of course, of course this would fucking happen. He knew he should have listened to Meg on this one.

“Sure, fine,” he says. “I was supposed to meet someone here though, do you mind if I let them know?”

He’s pushing his luck here, obvious from the little twitch of Jeremy’s eyebrow, but when he gets a grunt and a _sure, why the hell not_ gesture Michael takes his phone out. 

Takes a moment to think about it before he snaps a picture of Jeremy and his cronies and sends that along with a quick text to Gavin to let him know why he’s skipping out on their lunch meeting.

When he’s done, he looks up to see Jeremy giving him a look.

Vaguely judgmental, which is rich coming from someone like him.

“Hey,” Michael says because he’s both an asshole and an idiot. “Wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

If he ends up missing after this, at least the true crime shows will have something to puzzle over and speculate about for years.

========

For a country as small as this one is, they really put a lot into the palace.

A _lot_.

Massive, which makes sense when you remember it’s a fucking palace. 

Looks like pictures of other palaces Michael’s seen, that whole Baroque architecture style Meg and Lindsay like to go on and on about sometimes.

Pretty as hell, and way over the top.

But, again, _palace_.

Jeremy escorts him to a library of some sort. 

Has to be with wall to ceiling bookshelves packed with books and decorated with busts of what Michael’s assuming are notable historical figures in the country. A few globes, some potted plants. Huge windows overlooking an elegant courtyard.

All of it fancy as hell and making it even more obvious Michael’s wildly out of place here.

“Wait here, please,” Jeremy says, sharp little smile and an implied _stay the fuck put_ in his voice. “The prince will be with you shortly.”

And then he ducks out leaving Michael alone.

Michael stares at the door for a moment, and then snorts.

Jeremy’s definitely annoyed with having to deal with him, which means Michael’s doing something right.

No telling how long it’ll be before the prince shows up, if he’s the kind of asshole who likes to be fashionably late, or just likes to let people _his_ people basically kidnap off the streets stew for a bit before seeing them.

So Michael explores the library he’s been shoved into because what the hell else is he supposed to do? Stand there looking like an idiot until the asshole prince shows up?

Not likely.

No, Michael goes over to the bookshelves and glances at the titles of the books. Shit he’s never heard of, and most in languages he doesn’t know, which. 

Yeah.

Makes sense, considering.

From there he makes his way over to the windows overlooking the courtyard.

Standard stuff along the outer edges of the courtyard, flower beds and trees providing shade for the stone benches set along the paths. Towards the center of the courtyard hedges converge to form a maze, cobblestone paths marking the way to the fancy as hell fountain at the heart of it.

“Fucking rich people,” Michael mutters, because who the hell else would have something like that?

Which, yeah.

Royal family of a small Eastern European country and all, but _still_.

Michael turns away from the windows and goes back to exploring the rest of the library.

Finds a little nook tucked away at the back of it. A couch that looks comfortable, like someone could sit there and not regret doing so nestled in among potted plants. Soft lighting overhead and a beautiful lamp on a side table with a couple of books and an abandoned mug beside it.

Michael pauses at that, the first signs that someone actually lives in the damn palace. That it’s not some kind of museum, pretty to look at and appreciate and all that, but no touching allowed.

He’s still stuck on that, when the door to the library opens and someone comes in.

The location of the nook he’s in and the potted plants – small trees, really – screen Michael from view, and he takes advantage of it to see how whoever walked in will react.

Just because.

There’s a long moment of silence as whoever walked in realizes Michael isn’t in sight, may not even be in the library anymore.

Two voices.

“I thought you said you brought him here?” the first voice says, puzzled, confused.

Rich, deep thing with the accent Michael’s taken to associating with the people in this country. 

“I _did_ ,” Jeremy says, and there’s annoyance in his voice to go along with what sounds like genuine concern. “I told him to wait here for you.”

Michael shifts closer to the edge of the nook to watch Jeremy and whoever is with him. Sees Jeremy shoot the guy a look, more of the _stay the fuck here_ kind of thing, and holds his wrist close to his mouth and says something Michael can’t make out.

Has to be comms of some sort, because a moment later the library door opens again and some assholes that look to be part of the G-man squad come into the library.

Jeremy points at the guy with him – important, so maybe the prince? - and draws a gun to start searching the library for Michael, which is.

Yeah, wow.

Michael steps back, and glances over to the couch.

Comfortable looking and he’s been in here long enough it might actually be believable that he happened to fall asleep waiting for Jeremy to come back.

And with Jeremy prowling around with a goddamned gun, it seems like a smart idea to make him believe it. 

So.

On the couch he goes.

It doesn’t take a lot of work to fake sleep seeing as he’s had a hell of a long day before all this nonsense. Brutally long flight from the states to reach Europe and then a series of connecting flights to get here.

Mix-up at the hotel he had reservations for, and half a dozen small annoyances and inconveniences before he was able to head off to the lunch with Gavin.

One, by the way, that never happened because of all this nonsense.

Still.

He manages to pull it off, or maybe Jeremy lets him get away with it, whichever.

He hears Jeremy push through the potted plants to step into the nook, and this little sigh that feels like frustration and a hint of relief.

“There you are,” he says, almost too quietly for Michael to hear. And then louder, “Wake up, sir.”

Michael’s an asshole, though, so he makes Jeremy work for it just a little bit.

“Sleeps” through several calls for him to wake up, and only does so when Jeremy goes over to him and gently shakes his shoulder.

Does the whole sleepy fumbling bit and “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” bit that gets a frown out of Jeremy. And then the jaw-cracking yawn and, “I had a long day.”

No further elaboration because he doesn’t know Jeremy or anyone else here, and if he wants all the dirty details he’ll have to find them out for himself.

Jeremy stares at him for a long, long moment, and then tucks his gun away.

Clears his throat and says, “The prince is here, so if you’d follow me?”

Leaves no room for argument, and Michael pushes himself to his feet to trail after Jeremy.

And stops dead in his tracks when he sees the asshole standing in the main area of the library flanked by a couple of Jeremy’s cronies.

“ _You_ ,” he says, because he knows the guy in the perfectly tailored suit.

Literally ran into him earlier that day, while he was wandering the city to kill time until his lunch with Gavin. Looking around the little booths and kiosks at an open-air marketplace for souvenirs to bring home and some jerk moving too fast for the crowd, bumping hard into Michael and didn’t even bother with an apology or even an acknowledgment before fleeing the scene.

The guy gives him this awkward little smile accompanied with an equally awkward little laugh he quickly smothers, turns into a “cough” when Jeremy looks at him.

“I’m sorry, am I missing something?” Jeremy asks, this edge to it that speaks of lectures and Words To Be Had aimed at the guy rather than Michael. “Your Highness?”

 _Oh,_ Michael thinks, staring at the asshole who mowed him down in a crowded marketplace as realization dawns. _Oh, shit._.

========

“So you see,” the prince says, winding up his little sales pitch. “It’s all rather straightforward.”

They’ve moved from the library to a...Michael doesn’t know what it is. 

An office? 

A study? 

Something like that, only fancy as hell, because palace.

The prince – Ryan, which, again, not a name Michael expected to find in a country like this but what the hell does Michael know – insisted.

Had a request to make of Michael, and felt it would be best to go someplace else to present it, so here they are.

Ryan presenting his request by rambling on and on and somehow managed not to say anything of real substance as he did.

What Michael's been able to piece together is that it has something to do with Ryan being a man of his age, whatever the hell that means. At a guess Ryan’s somewhere in his mid to late thirties and not that old at all, but apparently there’s something else about expectations, and suitors?

All of it sounding positively medieval, and Michael not knowing what the fuck any of it had to do with him until Ryan reached the end of his bizarre sales pitch.

“...I’m going to need a refill,” Michael says, holding his glass up in the direction of the palace staff standing by. “That’s a lot to take in.”

Major understatement, because _Jesus fuck_ , but he’s in the presence of a world leader, so he manages to reign it in just a bit.

Because, okay, fucking _because_.

“Let me get this straight,” Michael says, pausing to thank the staff member as she pours him another. “You want me - _me_ \- to pose as one of your suitors to get another of your actual suitors to back the hell off?”

Some douchebag who can’t seem to take “no” as an answer and according to Ryan has been aggressively courting him in the hopes of marrying him? Sweet incentives in it for Ryan as it would strengthen his country both economically and politically and a lot of other bullshit Michael stopped listening to because they all sounded like positives in that scenario.

And yet here they are, Ryan trying to get Michael on board with this farce of his, and Michael - 

He doesn’t even know, is the thing, because it’s all so damned ridiculous.

What the actual fucking fuck is this nonsense? Not even Hallmark would come up with bullshit this bad, and they’ve made some godawful stuff over the years.

Ryan has this pleasant little smile on his face, like he hasn’t proposed what amounts to absolute insanity to a complete stranger he met earlier that day.

“Yes.”

Michael stares at him, and then drops his gaze to the glass in his hand.

Something a hell of lot stronger than beer because he felt everything before all this warranted it, and now he’s not sure if it’s strong enough.

“Okay, setting aside the whole,” Michael waves his hand in a vague gesture, “ _everything_ wrong about that, we don’t even know each other?”

Running into one another is a far cry from this whole fake suitor farce Ryan wants him to take part in. 

Ryan nods, like _oh, yes, excellent point_ , Michael.

Still smiling like an idiot, though.

Not laughing and telling Michael it’s all a joke and he’s on some weird European prank show and there are hidden cameras and what the hell is Michael’s life?

Michael maintains eye contact with Ryan as he drains his glass, because he _cannot_ with this asshole. Licks his lips when he’s done and sets his glass down on the table between them with more force than needed.

Just because.

Ryan clears his throat, gaze sliding away from Michael to land on the windows behind him and the view they afford or something like that.

Michael watches Ryan, though.

Guy’s not hard on the eyes or anything, no visible signs of being a goddamned lunatic or whatever the hell else it would take to come up with a plan like this. 

Kind of tired looking though, like he’s not getting enough sleep or under a lot of stress, which. The guy’s a world leader, so it would stand to reason those things would be true. Michael can’t imagine it’s an easy job being responsible for the well-being of so many lives day in and day out.

Unless he’s some kind of monster who manages to keep that side of himself hidden, in which case, yikes?

Too soon to call it, having just met him, but Michael has the feeling he’s just an idiot under it all.

And while his plan or whatever is stupid as hell, kind of throws a wrench into Michael’s reason for being in his country in the first place, it’s not like he had real plans for his stay here.

So.

“Do I get a say in any of this?” Michael asks, glancing over to where Jeremy is standing by the door to the room, more of his cronies on the other side in case Michael tries anything or something. “I mean. You know. With the everything.”

Given Michael’s understanding of situations like this, or ones similar to this with being approached by assholes in dark suits and sunglasses out of the blue, people generally don’t. 

People generally aren’t seen again, actually. Get disappeared and shit like that, and honestly he should be more worried about his current predicament than he is, _but_.

Something about Ryan and his stupid request, maybe, which Michael realizes should really have him feeling even more concerned given what the idiot wants him to do? 

And yet - 

Ryan’s head snaps back around to him, shocked expression on his face.

“What? Of course you do,” he says, sounding utterly appalled that Michel thinks he might not, that it even occurred to him that might be a possibility. “I – You - “

Michael’s eyebrows go up, because apparently it never occurred to Ryan how his little request would sound to someone who isn’t a complete idiot. (Look. Michael’s not claiming he’s a genius or anything, just. What the actual hell was Ryan’s reasoning in all of this?)

“Yeah,” he drawls. “You do realize what it sounds like, right? Asking some guy you don’t even know, someone you met on the street, to be your consort because some asshole can’t take a hint? And then you send your Men in Black to bring me to your palace?”

Shady as hell, the kind of thing that doesn’t end well for the poor bastard taken off the street. Or cafe, whatever.

Ryan stares at him, and Michael can see realization sinking into that thick skull of his. Can see him looking at things from Michael’s perspective, how fucking bizarre it is, potentially dangerous and all that.

“Pretend,” Ryan says weakly, still thinking things through. “ _Pretend_ to be my consort.”

Yeah, like that makes it better.

Still.

Michael gets a major upgrade to his living situation while he’s here, and one hell of a story to tell his friends and coworkers when he goes home. (Assuming he gets to.)

Also, a hefty chunk of money for his troubles which just adds to the overall shadiness of this entire thing? But money’s money and after seeing how many zeroes were involved Well, he’s not too proud to accept that kind of money for more or less doing nothing.

And...he’s just enough of an idiot that he wants to see where this stupid farce of Ryan’s goes, or maybe it’s something else, who the hell knows.

Michael watches Ryan having an epiphany or whatever, and sighs.

“What the hell, right? I’m in.”

Possibly the stupidest (last?) mistake he’ll ever make, but he’s never been that smart anyway.

Ryan blinks, frowns.

“What?” he asks, looking up at Michael, brain still working through just how incredibly creepy his proposal to Michael is.

Michael shrugs.

He had plans to check the palace out anyway, just, you know. Without the whole VIP treatment he’s in for agreeing to this madness. 

Michael gives Ryan a smile, careful to make sure it’s on the friendly side of things just in case and sticks his hand out to seal the deal as the saying goes.

“I’m in.”

For his part Ryan looks confused and slightly uncomfortable, but he shakes Michael’s hand all the same.

“Uh,” he says, like the world leader he is. “Thanks?”

God, this is going to be a fucking disaster.

========

Jeremy and his cronies confiscated Michael’s phone and other pocket trash when they brought him to the palace, but once he agrees to Ryan’s dumb plan he gets them back.

Gets a look from Jeremy, this quiet little warning in something as simple as a raised eyebrow that’s incredibly effective.

He also gets escorted to a sweet suite.

Fancy as hell like everything else in the palace and a view overlooking that same courtyard he first saw in the library. Huge bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub and what he strongly suspects are actual gold fixtures.

Stupidly ornate chandelier in the main room of the suite and furniture that has to be at least a century old and worth a fortune.

Makes him hesitant to make himself at home the way Ryan said he should.

They leave him alone to let him settle in, or whatever the hell while someone goes to collect the rest of his shit from the hotel he’s – was - staying at.

Someone else is putting together a packet for him to help familiarize himself with his new role as one of Ryan’s suitors.

_Suitors._

Like they’re in some ridiculous romance novel or something.

“Christ,” he mutters, and grabs his phone to call Gavin in case the idiot’s panicking over the text Michael sent him.

Because it’s Gavin, he doesn’t pick up on the first ring, or even the second. In fact, it’s not until the fifth ring the asshole bothers to answer at all, and when he does - 

“You left me with the bill, you bastard!”

Which, okay.

Yes.

Michael did indeed order a couple of beers. An appetizer or two, that kind of thing.

But in his defense, Gavin was late, wasn’t he. Probably didn’t even bother to set a fucking alarm.

“Yeah,” Michael says, taking a seat on the plush looking arm chair by one of the windows because he might as well be comfortable while he fills Gavin in. “You deserved that, by the way. Try being punctual next time, you fuck.”

There’s this mildly offended silence on Gavin’s end, as though he’s known for being punctual. Always where he’s supposed to be right on time, if not a little early, and then this long, drawn out sigh.

“So, Michael-boi,” he says, and Michael smiles to himself because that’s Gavin getting down to business, all serious and shit. “Want to tell me how your day’s been?”

Michael looks around at the swanky suite he’s been given. Fancy as hell and way too much for the likes of little old him. 

Remembers Ryan’s idiotic plan and his part in it and what kind of horrible things he must have done in a past life to deserve having this shit happen to him.

Thinks about Gavin, idiot that he is, and just how much shit he’s going to give Michael and how much he’ll deserve it.

Gavin’s gotten himself into tight spots in the past, sure, but never anything like this.

“Funny you should ask, Gavvy-boi,” Michael says, and proceeds to tell Gavin all about the kind of day he’s had and the utter clusterfuck he has to look forward to in his future because Michael’s just that kind of idiot.


End file.
